


Time Twisters

by 372259



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Draco Malfoy, BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/372259/pseuds/372259
Summary: Narcissa ignores the sharp smile her little brother wears after Bella's funeral, in the same way that Lily ignores the ravenous gaze her little sister aims towards Knockturn Alley. However, Albus Dumbledore cannot ignore the unexpected friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, not when he hears the blood dripping from their joined hands.{TimeTravel}{DRAMIONE}{Marauder's Era}
Relationships: Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 76
Kudos: 428
Collections: Hermione the Time Traveller





	1. Three Flowers, Three Sisters

**-x-{X}-x-**

**Time Twisters**

**-x-{X}-x-**

* * *

**FULL SUMMARY**

[TimeTravel - Dramione] Narcissa wonders if her brother feels guilty wearing black for Bella's funeral, considering he orchestrated her death. Lily cannot ignore her little sister's smile, as Rabastan Lestrange convulses in the dirt, mouth gaped in a silent scream. Dumbledore observes the unexpected friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, and flinches each time he hears the blood drip from their joined hands.

_{Time always collects its toll. This spin, the cost was the twisting of their very souls}_

After two years of a horrifically bloody war, a desperate batch of remaining Order members partake in a Dark Ritual. It's an attempt to dial back time, to return before Voldemort's resurrection during the Triwizard Tournament… only their plan goes terribly wrong. Hermione awakes as the younger sister of Lily Evans, Draco awakes as the youngest child of Cygnus Black, and the others...

Well, the others don't wake up at all.

**SHORT SUMMARY**

Narcissa ignores the sharp smile her little brother wears after Bella's funeral, in the same way that Lily ignores the ravenous gaze her little sister aims towards Knockturn Alley. However, Albus Dumbledore cannot ignore the friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, not when he hears the blood dripping from their joined hands. {TimeTravel}{DRAMIONE}{Marauder's Era}

**DISCLAIMER**

If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have five figures worth of student debt slowly sucking away my happiness. Honestly, student loans are essentially the Muggle equivalent of a dementor. This is all just a very roundabout and verbose way of saying J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and I unfortunately, do not.

**MAIN PAIRING**

Hermione x Draco [Dramione]

**BACKGROUND PAIRINGS/ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS**

Lily x James, Ted x Andromeda, Frank x Alice, Sirius x [reviewer's decide!], Remus x [reviewer's decide]. I am open to other pairings, feel free to suggest/ vote for your favs in a review ;)

* * *

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Hermione's name does _NOT_ stay Rose, and is quickly changed back to Hermione. This change is explained in the first chapter. Also, I've changed the admitting age of Hogwarts to _twelve_ instead of eleven for first year. I've done this so I can incorporate romance earlier.**

* * *

**Relative ages during Hogwarts years:**

_Previously Graduated:_ Prewett Twins, Molly Prewett, Arthur Weasley

 _Just Graduated:_ Bellatrix Black, Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange [note: Petunia is also in this age group, but obviously not a Hogwarts student]

 _Seventh Year:_ Rabastan Lestrange

 _Sixth Year:_ Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks

 _Fifth Year:_ Narcissa Black and Frank Longbottom

 _Fourth Year:_ Marauders, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, Alice Greengrass [future Alice Longbottom], Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes.

 _Third Year:_ Regulus Black

Hermione and Draco: You'll see ;)

* * *

**-x-{X}-x-**

**Time Twisters**

**-x-{X}-x-**

* * *

_"Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry."_

~ Hermione Granger, Prisoner of Azkaban.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Three Flowers, Three Sisters_

* * *

**_Lily's little sister is a sharp thing...  
_ **

* * *

At only seven years old, Lily meets fear for the first time. Her little sister, Rose, quietly facilitates the introduction. Sweet little Rose, who Petunia lives to spoil, and who eagerly chases behind Lily and Severus at the park. Silly little Rose, who giggles brightly when Petunia dresses her up in fake jewels for Sunday tea time, and who firmly insists on calling mustard, "mooserd."

Sweet little Rose, who is only five years old, but who the doctors say is going to die.

"So sorry…really sick… unwell... idiopathic etiology…uncontrollable fever… seizure activity… refractory to all treatments… done all we can... intractably comatose… deteriorating respiratory function… rapid decline… unlikely to survive the night…"

Lily stares wide-eyed, not comprehending the large words thrown at her parents by the weary bespeckled man in the long white coat. Her mind and soul refuse to register the mortality of her little sister until Lily hears a harsh _thud_. To her right, her mother collapses onto the linoleum floor, loudly wailing into her father's arms. Lily sees a flash of blonde hair and scrawny limbs to her left before Petunia is punching clenched fists into the tall doctor's side, and then rabidly clawing at his white coat, shouting.

" _Liar_! You're a liar! You were supposed to save her! How can you let her die! You have to save her! Please! Please you have to save her, she's my _sister!"_

The tired man looks more than a little heartbroken, and Lily kind of hates him for it. This doctor doesn't know that Rose likes Saturday morning honey and cinnamon pancakes more than anything in the world, or that Rose has a stuffed purple stag named Hornby that she sleeps with every night. This man in the white coat won't have to wake up every morning after tomorrow to find an empty bottom bunk where his little sister should be softly snoring. This man couldn't save her, he doesn't get to be sad.

"You can spend the night here, of course, to say goodbye. I'll make sure none of the staff make a fuss over it."

Lily's cheeks are sticky and her throat clogs up, but she doesn't burst into tears until she feels herself being pulled into a family hug by her parents and Petunia. Then, with an eerie stillness and harsh silence she won't ever be able to forget, they trickle out of the little room with the overused couches and stupidly colourful pictures. _('Were they drawn by the other dead kids that the white coats couldn't save?')_

Her mother collapses into tears again when they enter Rose's hospital room, looking upon an unfamiliar version of Lily's little sister: a silent wraith clothed in a sweat-drenched hospital gown, with at least four lines of tubes in her arms, and a misty breathing mask over half her face. Her father cajoles their mom out of the room, leaving three sisters inside the four bleached walls.

_('Soon to be two...')_

"They don't know what they're saying, of course. They're stupid, I tell you. Stupid people with utterly stupid thoughts. Not one functioning brain between the lot of them, Lily." Petunia hisses, voice nasally from snot. Lily's older sister then stomps up to the bed, all gumption and certainty. "You gotta keep breathing, okay, Rosie?" Petunia softly whisper-demands to the nearly still thing that was once their bouncing little sister. "You're _my_ sister. You'll get through this. You won't-" Petunia's voice breaks, and Lily's older sister takes a deep breath. "You will not die. I'm going to stay right here and I'm not going to let you leave. You understand?"

Rose doesn't answer. She doesn't even open her eyes. There is just the _beep beep beep_ of monitors and the garbled whoosh of air sliding through the mask. Petunia grips the limp hand of their little sister tenderly, chapped lips pressed tight together. Lily steps up towards them, and takes Petunia's other hand. Lily's throat feels too tight, but she forces the words out anyways.

"We'll both be here, Rosie," Lily murmurs. "We'll both be right here beside you until you wake up." Her voice cracks. "You just, you gotta wake up, okay?"

**-x-{X}-x-**

The doctors end up being wrong. Petunia ends up being right.

Rose doesn't die.

Dawn creeps into the room, chasing Rose's fever away. In the morning a new lady in a white coat comes, calls herself a _pediatric neurologist_ ("a brain doctor, in simpler words. I'm here to do another assessment on your sister.") The prim-looking lady scribbles some notes on a well-used paper pad as their dad answers all her questions with red-webbed eyes. The straight-backed lady nods crisply at multiple points, then summarily announces to the Evans family that Rose probably won't die, but she won't wake up either.

"You'll have some tough decisions to make in the coming days. She is sick and in a lot of pain," she pauses. "It may be more merciful to... help her passing."

This time, it's Lily who nearly claws off the white coat's face.

"How dare you!" Lily screams. _'How dare they say Rose won't wake? How dare they try to tell them to give up on her. Rose Evans is a fighter. Rose Evans will wake up. Rose Evans is too good to die. She is five, and little, and likes cherry pops, and she is going to wake up.'_

And by some miracle, Rose _does_.

In the middle of the sixth night of this nightmare of beeping buttons and sterile smells, Rose's brown eyes burst open, and Lily is so unbearably happy for a moment – but just a moment – because after the five-year-old awakens, Rose starts wailing. She shakes and sobs uncontrollably, weakly pulling at the lines that have become makeshift restraints, repeating " _ache_ " and " _oh_ " until the nurse barges in through the door and pushes a syringe of thick medication through one of the many tubes in Rose's arm.

"It'll help with the pain, but it will make her sleepy again," the nurse tells their parents.

The staff at Cokeworth General run pages and pages of tests during the next month Rose stays in hospital, trying to figure out what happened to her. ("Medical miracle... retained full cerebral function... no deficits despite the seizure burden... anomaly... case study... no answer yet... get to the bottom of it... interdisciplinary team... no answers yet... expert panel... no consensus... exceeding rehab expectations.") For all the poking and prodding, they never find an answer. And in the meantime, Lily, Petunia, and their parents spend every moment in the small four-walled room, cringing every time Rose closes her eyes to sleep.

_('Will she open them again?')_

Rose doesn't talk much during her hospital admission, and talks even less after she is discharged with a rainbow sticker and apple-flavoured lollipop ("Oh no, she only likes the cherry lollies," Petunia had said to the nurse who offered the sweet. Rose, however, had simply taken the green sucker and mumbled a quiet thank you.) Rose becomes, well, reclusive in a way. She stops following Lily to the park, and nearly rips off Petunia's arms when asked to play dress up.

And she has… _outbursts_.

The first outburst comes only two evenings after her discharge. She clears her throat the way adults like to do, from her seat at the dinner table, and announces she plans to get her first name changed formally from Rose to Hermione.

Their parents are shocked still for more than a moment, but their mom recovers first. The Evans matriarch carefully places a hand over Rose's smaller one. "Oh but Rosie, your name is a lovely name. Why on earth would you want to change it?"

"Rose Evans died. I'm Hermione now."

And even though Lily knows Rose isn't dead, her little sister's chilling tone certainly suggests it.

Their parents – of course – deny her. Initially. But then, Rose wails and screams and, _"if you loved me you'd do this. Don't you love me at all?!"_ Lily's parents, unable to stomach their youngest's unhappiness so close to having nearly lost the five-year-old, give in to her ridiculous demands. _Hermione Rose Evans_ , is the compromise. _'What bollocks,'_ thinks Lily, that evening as she flips her pillow and tightly embraces the worn cotton. _'Rose Evans is Rosie's name, and it's a name that fits.'_

Petunia, Lily, Rose; three flowers, three sisters. But _Hermione_ shears through their connections with unerring precision, and a cold ambivalence.

The decision to change names is especially strange since Rose ( _Hermione_ ) didn't fit in other ways. Lily looked like her mother, but had her father's eyes. Petunia looked like her father with their Nanna's sharp nose, blue eyes, and high cheekbones (or so Papa claimed). But Rosie? She looked like no one. No one had curly dark brown hair, or olive toned skin. No one had brown freckles or a pert nose.

Lily is seven when she first asks Petunia what the word _bastard_ means (because she heard Grandmother Evans angrily hiss the word at Hermione when the older woman had thought no one else was in the room.)

**-x-{X}-x-**

Lily and Ros- _Hermione_ share a bedroom, with a steel-framed bunk bed that squeaks whenever Lily climbs up to her half, and creaks whenever Lily searches for the coolness of the other side of the pillow. Before the hospital, the noisy bed was the loudest thing at night in the sisters' shared room.

After the hospital, Ro- _Hermione_ starts to shake and scream and even cry in her sleep. Her parents and Petunia run in more than once, only to have R- _Hermione_ screech at them to leave her alone, tossing the covers over herself in what would be a pretty amusing burrito (if it weren't for the terrified whimpering and shaky breathing). Out of necessity, Lily learns to sleep through the turbulence. Out of care, she starts to catalogue the names and words she can make out from her little sister's nonsensical mutterings.

Feeling particularly brave one morning, Lily tries to get some answers. "Who's Harry?"

Somehow, their room stays silent the nights after that.

**-x-{X}-x-**

" _STOP IT!"_

Lily ducks. Hornby flies by her face and crashes into the lamp shade, the fixture holding its balance for an impressive second before wobbling and toppling over the desk, sucking the light from the room as shards of glass spray across the floor.

"I said _stop._ Stop looking at me!"

Despite the darkness, Lily can still make out the silhouette of the beast in the body of her little sister, as the creature pulls at its brown curls with both hands while shaking its head back and forth. Lily wonders if Hermione realizes that Hornby lies limp, impaled by the broken lamp. (Rosie would have.)

"I hate it, I _hate_ your eyes!"

Lily stops even looking at Hermione too much after that outburst. That time… that time was the second time her little sister introduced Lily to fear.

**-x-{X}-x-**

"She's… wild now," Lily whispers to Severus, three weeks after Hermione's discharge. "She's... unpredictable." _Dangerous._ Lily runs her hands through the blades of grass, shivering even though it's a warm afternoon. "I'm worried she could hurt herself." _And maybe even… maybe even others too_. "Mum and dad… I think they might send her away to Nanna and Papa." _I think she frightens them too._

Severus sighs from his position beside the oak tree. "Maybe it's for the best, Lily." His face turns grim. "Remember that time you guys found her with the rat?"

Lily finches, blinking away _the red fingers and empty eyes and smell of Petunia's puke and the sound of her mother's tears and the despondent, "I needed to make sure he wasn't spying, I didn't mean to hurt him."_

Severus's next words pull Lily from the memory. "I think she needs more help than you can give her here."

**-x-{X}-x-**

The Evans' _Family Night_ used to be much anticipated and much loved by the entire group. But, that was before it's focus changed from laughter and games, and instead became a careful ploy of her well-intentioned parents to unsubtly push Hermione towards their oldest daughter. Poor Petunia, who had been more heartbroken over their baby sister's change than any of them.

(Because as much as Petunia would never break Lily's heart by admitting it, Lily had always known Rose to be the sister Petunia loved most.)

"Come on then Rosie, we can beat the rest of them at charades this time, don't you think? Just like we used to?"

"That's not my name."

Petunia tuts. "Don't be daft, Rosie, of course it is."

Lily shakes her head, and pities how desperately Petunia clings to the memory of the girl their little sister used to be. Hermione doesn't eat honey and cinnamon pancakes, doesn't eat sweets at all. Hermione speaks properly, and doesn't call mustard, "mooserd."

It's painful, watching how desperately Petunia tries to coax Rose out of Hermione. "Come on then, do you want to act or guess the first round?"

"I'd rather play question and answer, instead." Hermione's eyes narrow, her smile sharpens.

Lily cringes _. 'This won't end well.'_

"If we were all dead," Hermione doesn't pause her morbid hypothetical questioning despite their mother's horrified gasp across from them. "If Lily was killed by a psychopath..."

 _'Where did you even come up with such a horrible future, Rosie?'_ Lily thinks, watching their father pale.

"...and Lily's son was left an orphan, would you care for him?"

Petunia is as shocked as the rest of the family at the gruesome question, and the rather horrible implication behind it. "What?!" Petunia squeaks. "O-of course I would! What-"

_"LIAR!"_

Hermione tackles Petunia to the carpet, roughly yanks at the oldest's blond locks and repeatedly screams "liar" and fouler things like, "you'd lock him in a closet wouldn't you?! Treat him like some slave wouldn't you?! Call him freak wouldn't you?! _Wouldn't you!?"_

**-x-{X}-x-**

They take Hermione back to the hospital after that outburst.

It's only been a month since their departure, and Lily can confidently attest to not having missed the looming grey building at all. Some comfort comes in that at least this time the family are directed to an area that looks more like a clinic. It's a welcomed, if small, relief to Lily, who doesn't think her family can ever stomach being trapped in a small, four-walled hospital room ever again.

(Lily roughly shakes away the echo of raspy breathing.)

It's a bright August morning when they enter a building next to the neurology wing, through a beige door below a big sign that reads _Cokeworth General Hospital: Psychiatry, Psychology, and Mental Health Department._

"The nuthouse." Petunia whispers shakily next to Lily's ear, careful not to let Hermione overhear. "They're taking her to the nuthouse." Lily lets Petunia hold her hand, and each time her older sister's grip tightens, Lily wonders if maybe Petunia fears one of them might one day grow crazy too.

This time it's a plump man with an obnoxiously orange bowtie who jovially approaches them with a clipboard. He attempts a joke about the warm weather that only their mother politely manages a polite smile at, and then calls Hermione into a room. Hermione stays in the room with the psychiatrist for nearly two whole hours, before orange-man calls the rest of the family into the room.

"It's called _adjustment disorder_." He says, smiling while patting the head of an entirely unaffected Hermione. "It'll sort itself out with time."

Her parents sag with relief, her parents who (for some unfathomable reason) still take a doctor's word as absolute.

Lily knows better.

**-x-{X}-x-**

The next morning, after breakfast, she catches Hermione confronting Petunia in the hallway.

"You're going to have a test." Hermione says coldly. "And when you fail it, I'll stop being confused about you." The youngest nods her head decisively, murmuring to herself about _loyalty_ and _closets_ as walks around a bewildered Petunia.

Lily quietly walks up to her glassy-eyed older sister. "Come on Tuny," Lily smiles, pulling at Petunia's hand. "We can play dress up if you want? I'll even let you put me in pink, if you ask nice enough."

**-x-{X}-x-**

September comes.

School starts up again for Lily and Petunia. For Hermione, it's her first day of Year One at their now shared public school down the street. It doesn't surprise any of the Evans, not really, that mister and Mrs. Evans are called to the school office for last period on the very first day. Lily and Petunia get to miss their final classes of the day to join the impromptu family-teacher meeting. Petunia happily mumbles under her breath about being rather glad for the excuse to be out of Maths with Mr. Singh. ("Nice enough bloke. But what use will I ever have for algebra, anyways?")

"Mr. and Mrs. Evans," Principal Whettle clears his throat, before eyeing each member of the five Evans crammed into his office. "Thank you for coming in on such short notice. I'll let Miss Applebee takeover. There's been a development with your youngest."

Lily guiltily wonders if they're here because Hermione hurt someone. By the cautious looks shared between her parents, she suspects they wonder the same.

_'There isn't any other public school nearby. Where will we send Hermione if she gets herself expelled?'_

Instead of listing the grounds for expulsion or suspension, Miss Applebee goes on and on about Hermione's prodigious intellect.

"She came up to me at first recess, asked for the summer review test I give my older students. I thought it odd, but didn't see any harm in it. So I gave her the test for the Year 3's, and she finished it in minutes. I was shocked when I reviewed it; she answered every question correctly! So then, I gave her the test for the Year 6's, and she finished it just as quickly and accurately. I went to Mr. Singh's classroom to get his summer review test for his Year 9's, and the good lord as my witness, she finished that without mistakes as well!"

Principal Whettle cuts in. "We contacted our school board for their gifted students' liaison. I got a hold of the chap. Pleasant fellow, he was. He told me the closest schools would be the one in London and the one in Manchester—"

"Manchester?!" Their mother gasps.

"Principal Whettle," Her father sounds pained. "I work at the mill. The tuition for those sorts of schools—"

"Don't be dim. I'd be offered a scholarship, of course."

"Rose!" Their mother flushes, mortified at Hermione's rudeness in public. "Apologize to your father for your tone this very instant, young lady!"

Hermione look utterly unaffected from her seat, cooly turning to face her parents. "I'll apologize for my words when he apologizes for his." Her eyes sharpen, the way they tend to when she's about to say something hurtful. "Our walls are thin. Do you think I can't hear you calling me a bastard?"

Petunia flinches. Both sisters recall that fight too. It had happened just last week, when their parents had to submit the school uniform and textbook fees. Her parents were talking (yelling) about money in the kitchen, and how little they had of it after they had to pay for Rose's medical bills.

_"It's one thing to raise my children, it's another to raise someone else's!"_

_"What did you just say? If you have something to accuse me of, Robert, than say it!"_

_"Violet, don't take me for some fool. I thought when she was younger, maybe she just needed time to grow into any recognizable face. I told mother she must be mistaken, because you loved me. But, Rose is grown enough now, yet she looks not a thing like me, and not a thing like you! Clearly there was someone else! She's no daughter of mine; the girl is a bastard!"_

"No matter, at least not any more." Hermione's chilling words pull Lily from the spot behind the bannister (above the stairs that her and Petunia had hidden behind to eavesdrop on their parents argument) and back to the present, to a cold metal chair in the principal's office. "You can use the refund on my tuition for this school to get a proper genetic test. Time to put your worst suspicions to rest, _father_."

**-x-{X}-x-**

Hermione spends the school year at some smart boarding school in London, with a name that's too long and even has accents. She doesn't come back for holidays, and only comes back for summer break because her school doesn't extend scholarship students' accommodations between academic years. But even then Hermione is absent. During the summer months, the youngest Evans spends all her time locked away in the local library, reading book after book she has on loan from her fancy school, and scribbling rapidly into notebooks that she never lets anyone see.

Lily remembers back when Hermione said that Rose Evans was dead. Lily suspects her family actually believes it now.

No one calls her Rose anymore.

**-x-{X}-x-**

The summer when Lily turns twelve, she gets a letter with her name spelled in curls of green ink.

"What rubbish," her father huffs out. "Some lark by the kids in the neighborhood. Why, I bet it's that Jenkin's boy and his no good riffraff, wearing those ripped jeans, listening to that loud music. They're always up to some shenanigans. Why I ought'ta—"

"It's real." Hermione cuts him off, in her now typical abrasive manner.

Their mother gives Hermione a patronizing look. "Honey, I know in your books magic might—"

"Magic. Is. Real." Hermione sharply puts her spoon down. "I'm going upstairs."

Lily doesn't ask why her father doesn't reprimand Hermione for her rudeness, or the abrupt departure from breakfast. He doesn't reprimand her for much since that day the envelope from the hospital came, saying Grandma Evans was so utterly, horribly, terribly mistaken.

After the youngest Evans departs upstairs, Lily tells her parents that Hermione is right. She tells them about the community Severus claims to hail from. She tells them about how she could made unexplainable things happen by accident. She tells them the story of a hidden world.

**-x-{X}-x-**

The next morning, a tall woman calling herself Professor Minerva McGonagall knocks on their door, sits on their red chair, and summarily turns their telly into a tea cup.

Hermione sits on the couch: unmoving, silent, and unaffected by Professor McGonagall's display and fantastical explanation. Well, that is, Hermione stays distant until right before Professor McGonagall attempts to leave, which is when the youngest Evans approaches the stern Scottish woman.

"Excuse me," Hermione calls, waiting until the woman turns and meets her gaze before continuing. "Could I get my letter too?"

Professor McGonagall reiterates the bit about needing to be twelve to attend Hogwarts. ("You're two years too early, my dear.") Then she gives Hermione and even Petunia a pitying sort of look, commenting on the rarity of having more than one muggleborn in a set of siblings.

Hermione cuts the older woman off abruptly with an outstretched hand, and whispers _'shine'_ under her breath.

The entire room gasps when a little blue ball of flame unfurls in her palm, taking shape of a roaring dragon.

"I'd like my letter now, please."

**-x-{X}-x-**

"Where's Hermione?"

Petunia's fretting voice cuts through the persistent awe of the magical beings and items surrounding them. Lily blames the loud and crowded hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley for her family losing sight of the youngest. The family and Severus (their guide) panic for but a minute before they see a familiar head of riotous curls exiting Flourish and Blotts.

Petunia gasps at the youngest's puffy eyes. "Hermione, what happened!?"

"Nothing." Hermione hisses, slapping away a dejected Petunia's proffered hand.

Lily tries to recollect if the bookstore they just left had contained anyone who could have hurt Hermione, but she can't recall. She looks around the space her sisters stand to focus on the bookshop's windows. Lily sort of makes out a blond-topped little boy approaching the till, but is dragged away by an excited Severus towards Ollivander's ("the most famous wandmaker in all of England, Lily!") before she can make out the other child's face through the glass.

In stark contrast to Hermione's teary gaze and verbal vitriol at the bookshop, she seems to be in an exceptionally pleasant mood for the entirety of the rest of their shopping excursion. Well, except for that blip in the pet store, where she wanders about with a forlorn type of sadness that has even Severus concerned. But otherwise, the pleasant mood persists for the day and the rest of the summer, right up to when they say their goodbyes at King's Cross.

"Be safe." Hermione murmurs quietly, gaze focused on Lily's shoulder. The words are just barely loud enough to be heard over the whistling train and buzzing students.

"Okay. I'll miss you." Lily offers while pulling Hermione in for a hug, trying not to be too hurt when the younger girl's arms stay limp at her sides.

**-x-{X}-x-**

First year happens. It's _magical._

**-x-{X}-x-**

Lily comes back for Christmas, and is surprised to see that (for the first time) Hermione also makes the trip back from her fancy school. Well, that is, she is pleasantly surprised until her first afternoon back in Cokeworth, when a rather expensive looking owl flies crashed into their kitchen window with a letter.

But a letter that isn't addressed to Lily.

"Professor McGonagall set me up with a tutor." Hermione explains to the curious gazes of the rest of her family.

Lily's stomach tightens, and it has nothing to do with the pleasant smells from her mother's cooking. Suspicion supplants surprise. _'You're lying.'_

"Oh, well, that's very generous of her." Their mother smiles. "In that case, Lily, do be sure to give our thanks to the kind professor."

Lily nods tightly. "Sure Mu-"

"Don't." Hermione cuts in sharply.

"Honey," their mother chastises. "It's rude to interru-"

"No. Don't. They don't like mudbloods in the Wizarding World." Hermione scoffs. "If they find out I'm having premature tutelage, they'll be angry and try to get the person who helped me into trouble." She glares at Lily. "Don't say a thing."

 _'Premature tutelage? Who even talks like that? Speaking of...'_ Lily scowls. "You shouldn't use that word, Hermione. It's a really bad word."

Hermione sneers, an expression that looks too mean to belong to a girl of ten. "You're stupid and naïve if you think that'll stop anyone else from using it."

That night, Lily ponders where Hermione learned the slur from. _'Is that what triggered your crying fit in Diagon Alley?'_

**-x-{X}-x-**

Two years later, when Hermione's letter comes, Headmaster Dumbledore arrives with it.

He asks for a show of the bluebell dragon.

"No." Hermione hisses, with more icy vitriol than she's ever shown even Petunia or their father.

"Hermione!" Lily gasps at her rudeness. _'For Merlin's sake, this is the headmaster you're denying you rude little brat!'_

Their mother sighs. "I like to think we've raised you with better manners than that, darling." (Lily thinks it's interesting how their mother uses terms of endearment to replace Hermione's name, just so she doesn't have to say it.)

"I said no." Hermione bites out resolutely, glaring at the floor, where her gaze has remained since the very minute Headmaster Dumbledore entered their home.

Her parents apologize repeatedly to the Supreme Mugwump, fabricate some poor excuse over Hermione being grumpy after having stayed up too late the night prior. The affable old man recovers from his shock at the youngest Evan's venom rather quickly, and offers a genial smile. "Not to worry, Mr. and Mrs. Evans. I'm sure I'll see her skills in school."

"Yes," Hermione lifts her chin, smiles with sharp teeth, and focuses her eyes on a spot over the bearded man's shoulder. "You will."

**-x-{X}-x-**

"Hermione Evans."

Alice perks up at the newest name from McGonagall's list, and lightly shoves Lily's shoulder. "Oh, Lils! Is that your little sister?"

Lily nods, eyes not leaving the way Hermione gracefully approaches the hat-topped stool with perfect posture and confidence. _'Did they teach you that at that expensive boarding school in London?'_ Girls from Cokeworth didn't carry themselves the posh way Hermione did.

Dorcas squints from her spot on the other side of Lily. "Well, I never would have guessed but for the last name. She doesn't look a thing like you, you know?"

Yes, Lily does know. She knows it very well, has been aware of it since even before that terrible fight her father and mother had in the kitchen. And even though Mum forgave Dad when he tearfully apologized after they got that envelope from the lab, Hermione never looked at her father the same after that - when she even deigned to look at him at all. (There's a reason their father lets Hermione get away with anything.)

Lily's nails dig into the oak wood of the Gryffindor table bench by her skirt as McGonagall slips the Sorting Hat onto Hermione's curly mane. _'Not Slytherin_ ,' Lily prays, despite the fact that her best friend wears a snake on his robes. _'Not Slytherin_.'

"So," Marlene eagerly sing-songs from her seat across them, "Another Gryffindor then?"

There's a pause before Lily can bring herself to respond. "Probably Ravenclaw," Lily shrugs, unwilling to voice her true suspicions. "She's always been so smart, skipped ahead like eight grades in muggle school. _Eight_. She even went to a fancy gifted school in London before here, with a scholarship and everything." Yes, Ravenclaw, Lily hopes, will be Hermione's saving grace. Lily has never known her little sister to be brave, and has not known kindness from the youngest since before her sickness (the mutilated dead rat in the yard certainly hadn't). And Hermione may be cunning, but Hermione is muggleborn, and Slytherin will break her beyond repair.

_'Ravenclaw, please. Please, please, please.'_

Four minutes pass, the ragged hat on Hermione's head remains silent.

Lily acknowledges the lie of Hermione's welfare being the sole push behind the middle Evan's fervent prayers. Lily doesn't want to be the sort of bigot that thinks that every person sorted into Slytherin is evil, and Severus's own sorting disproves that belief (as does Professor Slughorn, their genial Head of House). But, Hermione is the smartest person Lily has ever known. What does it say about her little sister if even her brilliance is outmatched by her ambition, cunning... and ruthlessness?

Six minutes pass. Lily leaves the worries in her head to tune into the growing whispers around her. The hat's protracted silence had already incited conversations amongst the crowd.

"Why's it taking so long to sort her?" A new Gryffindor asks.

"Hatstall," she hears Remus murmur distractedly a couple seats down, his own interest piqued towards the sorting.

"Never seen one this long before." That prat Potter observes.

"Last one was Professor McGonagall," Marlene contributes. "Even she was only six minutes, according to my uncle."

Ten minutes pass, Lily notes that Headmaster Dumbledore hasn't taken his eyes off of Hermione even once.

"I heard Nicholas Flamel was nine."

"Well, I heard Merlin was ten, the longest ever."

"Do any of you lot even read? _Hogwarts: A History_ clearly states that the longest hatstall ever was Morgana Le Fay. She was eleven and a half minutes."

Thirteen minutes in, and the hat's booming voice shocks the whispers away. He sings not a house but a hymn.

 _"Once you'd be_ _the pride and joy of any founder,_

_now only one place for such a hungry power…"_

Lily's stomach lurches. _'No.'_

_"SLYTHERIN!"_

Lily isn't sure she's still breathing. Then the air comes gasping back when a smirking Hermione heads not towards the Slytherin table's designated section for first years, but instead trounces up to a pleased looking blond boy sitting in the second year area. The boy shoves over his neighbour to make room for her.

Lily nudges Marlene with her foot. "Hey, Marly. What was that boy's name again?"

Marlene turns from the sorting back towards Lily, asking over the loud cheering as some first year boy with a charming smile gets placed into Ravenclaw. "Who?"

Lily forgoes all social niceties and blatantly points to the blond across the hall, the one currently whispering something into a smirking Hermione's ear. Lily can't remember the name of her sister's new friend, but easily remembers his sorting (how could she forget such an atypical one from just last year? The hat had barely hovered over his head before yelling his house).

Marlene turns and squints. "Oh, the blond? That's Sirius's younger cousin. His name is…" she puts a finger to her chin, thinking a moment, before snapping her fingers. "Oh, right. His name is Draco Black."

* * *

**_Lily's little sister is a sharp thing..._ **

**_with pointed eyes_ **

**_and a crack that masquerades as a smile._ **

* * *

_End of Chapter 1_

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If you enjoyed and would like to see more of this world, please leave a review :)!

I'm hoping to do either a Narcissa point of view, Sirius point of view, or Draco point of view next ;D

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**Author's Note:** Yes, I am well aware I should be finishing my other fics. Yes, I know I'm starting another project I probably won't finish. Yes, I'm going to do it anyways ;P


	2. Interlude 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His voice cracks. "Hermione, I don't think I can forgive you this time."

**A/N: This is the first "interlude" of the many (probably like five) that will be interspersed between chapters, that essentially show the "future" as it was before Draco and Hermione went back in time. The interludes are not in chronological order and they are intentionally misleading, but they're fun to write so they're happening ;)**

* * *

**-x-{X}-x-**

**Time Twisters**

**-x-{X}-x-**

* * *

**INTERLUDE 1**

* * *

"Would you die for me?"

"Merlin, Hermione. What kind of fucked up question is that?"

"The most important one."

**-x-{X}-x-**

"Harry grew up an orphan, and what he's always craved more than anything is family… And I'm the selfish bitch that robbed him of it."

"That's not what he thin-"

"Just because it's a terrible truth, doesn't make it untrue, Draco." She looks into the fire, sees the shadow of a not-so-innocent vial of black liquid reflecting back. "Sometimes he looks at me, and I know… I just know, he's blaming me for stealing away his chance at happiness."

**-x-{X}-x-**

"Do you regret it?" She ventures, quietly, still trying to catch her breath from screaming at him just moments prior. They've never screamed at each other so carelessly, not once in their near-decade long friendship. All those years, and the duo had never fought so loudly – so violently – not ever. And yet, somehow, this silent pause is the most deafening moment of the entire evening. She hopes he understands what she really wants to say, the question inside the question she poses to his tense back. _('Do you regret me? Do you hate me for what I did? Will you ever forgive me for what I took from you?')_

She realizes maybe her query was a bit ill-timed when he abruptly turns to face her, eyes burning with unadulterated rage.

"You know what Hermione? Fine! You want to hash this out. Let's hash it out!" He rushes towards her, knocks vinewood out of her hand, then pins her against the wall with such force that her head thumps against the wallpaper. "I'm done dodging your tantrums. Yes, alright! Yes, I regret it! There you have it, the truth you so relentlessly hounded from me. Does having it make you feel better now, huh?" A pause, and then a frustrated sigh. "You just couldn't let it go." He tiredly rests his forehead on the wall above her shoulder, voice hoarse. "Hermione, why couldn't you just let it go?"

"Because you refuse to forgive me for it!" Hermione's vision blurs. _('After everything we've been through, we're breaking. Don't you see? Our friendship is shattering, piece by piece, day by day, minute by minute. I'm trying so desperately to keep us whole, but I can't keep us together all on my own.')_

There's a sad realization in his eyes. "I don't…" His voice cracks. "Hermione, I don't think I can forgive you this time." He steps away, and Hermione hears the final dying breath of their friendship in the space he leaves. He shakes his head, eyes wet. "I'm sorry. I don't think I'll ever be able to."

* * *

**A/N 1: Anyone interested in being a Beta for this story? I looked over my first chapter and found too many typos (which I have since corrected), but would love it if someone could look over Chapter 2 (Narcissa's POV) for me? I'd probably be able to send it over to you sometime in the next seven or so days.**

**A/N 2: I'm so sorry, I know it's been forever. I've had like eighty percent of the next chapter done for almost three weeks, but there are TWO SCENES that refuse to write themselves! URGH. It would feel too disjointed to add them to a later POV and so I'm stuck not posting until my muse kicks in and finishes them. BIG THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed so far, you are the reason the next chapter is on its way!**


	3. Chapter 2: The Wallflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Narcissa wonders if it was fated, somehow. Every Black for generations was named after a constellation: bright, bold, eternal brilliance carved into the night sky above.  
> 'But me?'  
> Narcissa was but a mere flower: earthbound, ephemeral, and beneath the notice of giants.

**HUGE SHOUT OUT AND PROFUSE THANK YOUS**

**to the AMAZING**

**LyraDraconis**

**for beta'ing this chapter on such short notice!**

**You are AWESOME!**

**Also a HUGE thank you to EVERYONE who reviewed. Honestly, your reviews are the only reason I'm continuing this story (as many know, I have a habit of going on too long hiatuses *blushes*)**

**So sorry for the wait, but I gave you guys a long chapter to make up for it ;)**

* * *

**-x-{X}-x-**

**Time Twisters**

**-x-{X}-x-**

* * *

**FULL SUMMARY**

[TimeTravel - Dramione] Narcissa wonders if her brother feels guilty wearing black for Bella's funeral, considering he orchestrated her death. Lily cannot ignore her little sister's smile, as Rabastan Lestrange convulses on the ground of the courtyard, mouth gaping in a silent scream. Dumbledore observes the unexpected friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, flinching each time he hears the blood drip from their joined hands. _{Time always collects its toll; this spin, the cost was the twisting of their very souls}_ After two years of a horrifically bloody war, a desperate batch of remaining Order members partake in a Dark Ritual. It's an attempt to dial back time, to return before Voldemort's resurrection during the Triwizard Tournament… only their plan goes terribly wrong. Hermione awakes as the younger sister of Lily Evans, Draco awakes as the youngest child of Cygnus Black, and the others...

Well, the others don't wake up at all.

**SHORT SUMMARY**

Narcissa ignores the sharp smile her little brother wears after Bella's funeral, in the same way that Lily ignores the ravenous gaze her little sister aims towards Knockturn Alley. However, Albus Dumbledore cannot ignore the friendship between Draco Black and Hermione Evans, not when he hears the blood dripping from their joined hands. {TimeTravel}{DRAMIONE}{Marauders Era}

**DISCLAIMER**

If I owned Harry Potter, I would not have five figures worth of student debt slowly sucking away my happiness. Honestly, student loans are essentially the Muggle Equivalent of a dementor. This is all just a very roundabout and verbose way of saying J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, and I unfortunately, do not.

**MAIN PAIRING**

Hermione x Draco [Dramione]

**BACKGROUND PAIRINGS/ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS**

Lily x James, Ted x Andromeda, Frank x Alice, Sirius x [reviewer's decide!], Remus x [reviewer's decide]. I am open to other pairings, feel free to vote for your favs in a review ;)

* * *

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Remember: I've changed the admitting age of Hogwarts to** _ **twelve**_ **instead of eleven for first years. (And I've done this so I can incorporate an open romance angle a bit earlier.)**

* * *

**Relative ages during Hogwarts years:**

_Previously Graduated in other years:_ Prewett Twins, Molly Prewett, Arthur Weasley, Rodolphus Lestrange

 _Just Graduated:_ Bellatrix Black, Lucius Malfoy [note: Petunia is also in this age group, but obviously a Hogwarts student]

 _Seventh Year:_ Rabastan Lestrange

 _Sixth Year:_ Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks

 _Fifth Year:_ Narcissa Black and Frank Longbottom

 _Fourth Year:_ Marauders, Lily Evans, Severus Snape, Alice Greengrass [future Alice Longbottom], Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes,

 _Third Year:_ Regulus Black

 _Second Year:_ Draco Black

 _First Year:_ Hermione Evans

* * *

**-x-{X}-x-**

**Time Twisters**

**-x-{X}-x-**

* * *

_"Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Harry."_

~ Hermione Granger, Prisoner of Azkaban.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_The Wallflower_

* * *

_**Narcissa's little brother is slow…** _

_**(Slow to show, slow to wake, slow to speak...)** _

* * *

Narcissa Cassiopeia Black is proud to say that she is a _lady_ , thank you very much. And proper pureblood ladies do not hate (at least, not outwardly). Despite knowing such an incontestable fact from her etiquette lessons, nine-year-old Narcissa really, really, _really_ wants to outwardly hate her awful Aunt Walburga.

"Oh Druella, darling, I've heard. How utterly unfortunate." Aunt Walburga tuts, setting her filigreed tea cup down and drawing her thin lips into a mocking frown. "And after it nearly killed you to bring him into the world, how sad." Aunt Walburga coos derisively, the way one might to a new and moderately incompetent dress-fitter that nervously flits around their patron.

Narcissa internally seethes at her aunt's blatant disrespect to her mother.

"Oh, Walburga, _darling_ ," Narcissa's mother responds. "Your brother must merely be patient. Our son is still young." The youngest of Cygnus Black's daughters truly admires her mother's restraint, even if a bit of bile does seep into the rest of Druella Black's response to her sister-in-law. "Don't fret so easily, _Wally._ Worrying will only add more premature lines to the forehead, after all."

The corner of Aunt Walburga's eyes tighten, her back straightens further against the antique iron and silver wrought chair. "Cygnus is right to be concerned." Aunt Walburga's nose pinches, making her look not unlike a drenched rat. "After all, your womb produced only daughters and miscarriages for so many years, and when you finally give my brother a son, you fail yet again by producing a _squib._ "

Aunt Walburga hisses out the word squib in the same manner most say _spattergroit_.

Narcissa's mother's entire countenance stiffens at the insult, and from her peripheral vision, Narcissa notices Andromeda's shoulders tense up as well. "There is time yet, Walburga," their mother manages through a taut smile.

Aunt Walburga snorts _._ (' _How inelegant,'_ Narcissa mentally accuses.) "There has never been a child of the Noble House of Black whose accidental magic refused to show at least once before the age of five. Your squi- _son,_ " she 'corrects' herself with a smarmy smile, "turned six years old almost seven whole months ago." Aunt Walburga sniffs mockingly. "My poor, poor brother, to be cursed with such misfortune. Clearly it's the result of bad blood. I always did warn my father - may he rest in peace - that House Rosier was a questionable choice."

At the insult to their mother's maiden house, from the corner of Narcissa's eyes, she sees Andy rigidly pick up her tea cup once again _. 'Probably to stop her hands from drifting to her training wand,'_ Narcissa suspects, eyeing the spread on the table. ' _Or the crumpet knife.'_

Her mother's voice hardens, nearly forgoing superficial niceties. "Perhaps it's best that you leave my children to me, and focus on your own."

"Oh, yes, of course," Aunt Walburga preens. "Well as I'm sure Cygnus has told you, _both_ of _my_ sons are doing wonderfully. Why, their tutor sings both their praises."

"Oh, yes, I spoke with Sirius at Draco's birthday." Andy smiles sweetly, craftily inserting herself into this wretched teatime conversation. "He told me the most intriguing tale about a prank involving a kettle, a candlewick, and making his tutor literally sing sonnets for an entire day." Andy tilts her head. "One must applaud his creativity, and your way with words, Aunt."

It's only the stern echo of Great Aunt Cassiopeia's propriety teachings that prevent Narcissa's amusement from breaking through her placid expression. Though she does internally applaud her sister. ' _Well done, Andy.'_

Aunt Walburga stiffly makes some throw away comment about "other engagements" she is due to attend, and rises to exit via floo. The youngest Black daughter puffs out a small breath, relieved their monthly tea with their troll of an aunt is finally over. Narcissa turns towards her mother, perched primly on a velvet brocade seat. She watches with worry as her mother's entire posture slumps as soon as the green flames in the fireplace die out.

"It's been a long afternoon for you, mother," Andy voices Narcissa's concern. Even though the room's grandfather clock reads only just after four, their mother rarely spends more than five hours a day awake. "You should retire to bed."

Their mother's exhaustion grows even more evident when the older woman does not dissent, merely nods and calls for an elf to take her to her room. Her glamour charms had fallen the moment their aunt departed, and Narcissa's chest clenches at the now stark pallor and sunken cheeks of her mother.

"The _nerve_ of that ghastly _ogre_ ," Andy hisses once the elf pops their sickly mother away. The sisterly duo lock arms and make their way into the hall. "You know what? I hope the floo malfunctions and eats her up. Let the shrill hag rot. And if it doesn't do us that service, well, the next time that our _darling_ Aunt _Wally_ says another word about our brot— _Draco_?" Andy pauses their stroll as well as her words, staring wide-eyed at the newest (but apparently _not_ new) occupant of the hall. The brunette's voice turns leery. "How long have you been standing there?"

' _How much did you overhear'_ is what Narcissa knows Andy really wants to ask. One of the elves was supposed to be watching over him, and keeping him far away from the malicious words of Walburga Black. Narcissa just barely holds back a frown. ' _The useless creature clearly slacked off.'_

Their little brother stares resolutely at the polished hardwood floor, refusing to meet their gazes. He quietly mumbles out some unintelligible words that neither sister can hear. Narcissa sharply chastises him. "Blacks speak clearly, Draco."

Andy rolls her eyes at Narcissa before gently asking Draco to repeat himself. He inhales deeply, although his eyes remain cast downward, before letting the words fly out on his exhale. "Is it true that mother is so sick because of me?"

' _Yes.'_

"Of course not, Draco," Andy lies, unhooking her arm from Narcissa and cautiously approaching their little brother. The brunette kneels before him, and Narcissa chastises her sister's lack of decorum reflexively. "Blacks don't kneel, Andy. Ladies especially."

Andy blatantly ignores her reprimand. "No one else is watching, Cissy. Relax." The brunette waves an uncaring hand in response to Narcissa's admonishment. "What are you doing out here?" Andy asks their brother instead. "Kippy was supposed to be–"

"I was with Bella."

Andy freezes, Narcissa's back tenses.

"What were you doing with Bella?" Andy's voice hardens. "I told you enough times to leave her be."

"She came to me." Draco swallows, skinny shoulders scrunching inwards, gaze still honed onto the ground. "She ordered Kippy to leave…"

Narcissa notes the way Andy's eyes start running over their brother, trying to figure out what injury Bella inflicted upon him this time. (Their father had been nothing but supportive of Bella's self-proclaimed ' _initiatives'_ to ' _encourage'_ their brother's accidental magic, and no one had wanted to add knowledge of the bullying as another burden for their mother to bear. It had been made very clear to Draco that he was not to do or say anything that might cause undue stress to their mother.)

"She did nothing that hurt, this time. She took me to the room with the family tapestry," Draco explains quietly. "She took me to my picture. Then she said to look closely because... because…" He hiccups. "She said soon it'll be gone, because father is going to burn my face away."

' _Merlin, Bella.'_

Draco finally looks up to them, eyes glassy. "Will father really send me away?"

' _You're only still here because mother lives, and father has a soft spot for her. When Death comes for mother, father will come for you.'_

"Of course not, Bella is just being mean," Andy lies yet again. (Narcissa can't help but admire the ease with which Andy lies. Narcissa suspects herself the only one capable of discerning Andy's truths and lies, which is reassuring, considering Andy carries so many of Narcissa's own secrets in the swirls of her brown curls. With an unassuming pretty face and a quick mind, Andromeda Black really does make a most effective secret-keeper.) "Now come along," Andy deflects. "Why don't you attend me and Cissy as we stroll through the gardens. We can eve–"

Narcissa never hears the end of Andy's plans for their afternoon.

Instead, her sister's suggestion is interrupted by Draco's screams.

**-x-{X}-x-**

The private patient rooms of _St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_ are entirely too familiar to nine-year-old Narcissa Black. ' _How can they not be, when mother lived in one such room for over five years after Draco's birth?_ ' Her mother hadn't been deemed medically stable enough to be left to the care of a private healer from their manor until just over a year ago.

' _And even then, I wonder how much father paid them to see her back in his home. Her energy grows weaker, she grows frailer, and her days grow shorter. I am not so naive as to not realize she is living on borrowed time.'_

This visit, however, it is instead a different Black resting in the expensive hospital bed.

"Father and Mother are with Healer Shacklebolt now. She's the Head Healer, I checked."

Narcissa doesn't jump at her older sister's sudden presence by her side, a stoicism entirely attributable to the efforts of their Great Aunt Cassiopeia. The monochrome hospital room had been near silent until Andromeda's abrupt arrival; Narcissa had taken her mother's seat by Draco's bedside in a silent vigil, and Bellatrix was more subdued than normal while she lazed about on the embroidered loveseat at the far end of the large room.

"What do the healers suspect caused his…" Narcissa's question peters off. She isn't sure what to call it… the… _the_ _incident_. The blonde nearly shivers when she remembers the way her little brother collapsed to the ground, wailing with piercing cries while desperately grasped at his head so harshly red rivulets had matted his hair. Then within moments of his fall, he had started convulsing, bright blood dribbling out from his ears, eyes, and nose.

It's a horrible image Narcissa is actively trying to forget.

In present time, Andy shrugs before taking the empty seat on the other end of Draco's bed.

"That's father's seat," Bellatrix snaps from the other side of the room.

"Well, he isn't here right now, is he?" Andy snaps back.

Bellatrix grumbles something under her breath, crosses her arms, then stubbornly resumes her ill-mannered lounging.

Narcissa's nose scrunches in distaste. ' _Aunt Cassiopeia certainly would have had vocal opinions regarding Bella acting in such an unrefined way in a public setting.'_ Seeing the ire building in both her sisters' gazes, Narcissa intercedes, hoping to divert another extraneous argument. "He whimpers sometimes. About his knee."

Andy sighs, before lifting the blanket to examine the boy's knees once again. After all, Draco's earth-quaking wails from the incident had only been _mostly_ undecipherable (" _No… please…her… knee… my knee!")_ Andy's familial grey eyes narrow at his joints. "They look fine to me. Just like they've looked every other time we've checked."

"Healer now, are you Andy?" Bellatrix jeers.

"I'm as much of a healer as you are an honest witch." Andy hisses back, gently covering their brother's legs once more. Narcissa can't help the roll of her grey eyes, rather not in the mood for another verbal battle between her sisters when their youngest sibling lies in a magical-induced coma.

' _Clearly a modicum of class is too high of an expectation when these two are forced into a confined space.'_

Bellatrix sits up quickly, stomping over to Andy. "What's that supposed to mean then? Spit it out if you have something to say, Andromeda."

"As if we don't all know that you did this!"

Bella's eyes widen in response so genuinely, that if Narcissa didn't remember the way the eldest pushed Draco down the stairs just two weeks ago, or the way Bella tied him to the balcony railing and _left him there for the entire night_ only a week ago (all cruel acts disguised as tough love to provoke his magic), Narcissa might have even believed Bella's innocence.

"You think us fools, Bella?" Andromeda rages. "You can masquerade your vindictiveness as ' _encouraging his magic'_ all you want with father, but everyone knows you truly want nothing more than to have Draco sent away out of fear that the moment he shows magic, father will prefer him over you!"

Bellatrix sneers, shoulders tense. "I'm the eldest. I'm the heir," she growls. "Father will _always_ prefer me."

Andy snorts, rising from their father's designated seat to stand toe to toe with Bellatrix. "Father is a man, and the moment our brother shows magic, he will name Draco his heir."

Bellatrix actually _shoves_ Andy to the ground (' _like some muggle,'_ Narcissa notes disdainfully, not moving to intervene). "It doesn't matter what you think, _little_ _sister_. Because. He. Is. A. _Squib._ " Bellatrix punctuates each word by petulantly slamming her palms against the foot rails of Draco's hospital bed. "And father would never name a squib his heir over me."

Andy smirks, looking up at Bella with a vindictive gleam in her hazel eyes. "That's where you're wrong _Bella_. I eavesdropped on the healers. They said the only reason Draco survived is because his _magic_ protected him."

Narcissa recognizes the rhythm of Andy's words, the careful placement of them, and suspects her sister is doing that terribly clever thing she does where she hides a secret with a pretty (but misleading) truth.

But Andy and Bella have no more time to air out grievances and suspicions, because a set of doors slams open with a deafening bang. Cygnus Black surges into the room with hurried, harsh steps that thrum up her spine. Narcissa quickly removes herself from their mother's seat, and side steps her father's furious gaze, which narrows onto Bellatrix.

In less than a moment, his dark walnut wand is out, and Bella is a foot in the air, grasping at her throat.

"You conniving, vicious, little brat!" Their father roars. "What did you do to my _heir_?!"

Narcissa gratefully notes the pale hands of her mother gently wrapping around her husband's shoulder, thankful that the woman followed their father into the room. ' _Mother will not let father hurt Bella too horribly,'_ Narcissa reassures herself. _'She'd never let him truly hurt any of us.'_

"Cygnus, please," their mother entreats quietly. Bella's loud wheezing starts to whittle into quiet squeaks, as their father's spell seems to tighten around her neck. " _Please_ ," their mother reiterates at least thrice more before Bellatrix slumps to the ground, gasping for air, tears streaming down her face.

"I d-didn't." Bella croaks. "I p-promise, f-father, I d-didn't-"

To the horror of the other women in the room, Cygus wrenches his fallen daughter's neck back with a firm grip on her curls.

" _Legilimens!"_

The next few moments are filled with Bellatrix screeching in pain, before their father seems assured enough of the truth. The verdict must be innocence, given that his next course of action is simply to release his grip on his eldest.

Narcissa notes Andy – who has since stood up again – has a white-knuckled grip on her training wand. She eyes the way the downturned French accessory is angled towards Cygnus. Evidently, their father notices too, and strikes Andy across the face so violently that she flings back to the floor. "One daughter without respect for her superiors, and another without any understanding of her place." He sneers. "The only one of my children worth anything lies near dead."

He storms back out of the room, dark robes billowing out behind him. Narcissa lets out a breath of air she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She is simultaneously glad, bitter, and unsurprised by her lack of mention in her father's list _. 'I'm never noticed.'_ At least, not for the things that matter. ' _Not by anyone but Aunt Cassiopeia.'_ Sometimes Narcissa wonders if it was fated, somehow. Every Black for generations was named after a constellation: bright, bold, eternal brilliance carved into the night sky above. ' _But me?'_ Narcissa was but a mere flower: earthbound, ephemeral, and beneath the notice of giants.

The hospital room doors slam shut, the vibration reverberating through each of the occupants. There's a pause, and then their mother quickly approaches the curled, whimpering form of Bellatrix. The oldest Black sister flinches at the gentle touch, before sinking into her mother's arms, shoulders trembling.

Andy uses the moment of Bella's _diversion_ to quietly update Narcissa.

"The healer told father that the only reason Draco survived was because his own magic somehow shielded his mind and body," Andy whispers, hand unconsciously fingering the burgeoning bruise on her face.

"So he has magic." Narcissa nods. ' _Thank Merlin.'_

"Had," Andy corrects quietly and Narcissa jolts at the implication.

' _Oh no.'_

"The healer told father that whatever happened destabilized his magical core," Andy continues nearly inaudibly. "They aren't sure what's wrong. Draco's magic... they say that it's eating itself up countering whatever is going on. It's part of why they put him in a coma, to try to reduce the drain on his core. Even still, if he wakes up-" _('when,'_ Narcissa mentally addends her sister, too terrified of the beast their father will become should his heir become a corpse) "-Draco likely won't be able to use his magic again. Or even if he can, just bare remnants of it." Andy shudders in a gulp of air, before continuing in an even quieter whisper. "Cissy, they said his magic is dying."

Narcissa's gut twists. She turns her attention back to the corner of the room, where their mother sweetly strokes Bella's dark curls, despite the fact that the older woman's eyes look like they might close from exhaustion at any moment.

_**("And after it nearly killed you to bring him into the world, how sad.")** _

Narcissa hates Aunt Walburga even more for the fact that the ogre's words continue to echo at the most inopportune of moments.

She glances at the bed holding her brother, and guiltily lets horrible thoughts flash across her mind. ' _I would rather have a mother than a brother. Sometimes… sometimes I wish she never had you.'_

"Time to get mother home." Andy says, unaware of the stray direction of her younger sister's thoughts. "It's been utterly too much of a day."

**-x-{X}-x-**

Narcissa adds the image of Bellatrix's struggling near-limp body (gasping for air as their father nearly strangled her in the private hospital room) to the box in her head. It's a box with layers upon layers of tightly wound chains and complicated ties. It's the container she hides in the very deepest corner of her mind, it's also the cage she uses to imprison the memory of _the incident_. This same well-secured box is where she hides some other memories from her childhood… like from that one night when she was six, where their father dragged Andy by her collar to their fourth floor balcony and floated her over the ledge for over an hour, rabidly warning her that if she ever questioned his views on muggles again he would see her dead. He had let her fall with every other sentence, his magic catching her just before she splattered against the stone path below, only to lift her back before tossing her once more into the air. Narcissa buries the image of Andy sobbing and grasping for the edge, to the backdrop of a star-speckled dark sky, deep in the box in her head.

Terrible memory after terrible memory crowds within that box over the years of her childhood, all unable to escape the box's many locks.

Narcissa had always been unnaturally good at hiding things in her head.

**-x-{X}-x-**

Two weeks pass, and Draco still sleeps.

(He's like a white wraith: pale skin, pale hair, covered in cotton sheets. He's actually the sibling that looks most like Narcissa, sharing both her blond Rosier hair and grey Black eyes. They are similar in those superficial ways, yes, but rather different in others. For example, Narcissa is awake while Draco is near-dead.)

Another two weeks pass, and Narcissa starts to overhear the healers whisper that they doubt he will wake at all.

September comes, and Bellatrix leaves for her second year at Hogwarts, while Draco still refuses to wake.

Narcissa and Andromeda alternate shifts at the hospital, and their mother visits as often as her health allows her. Oftentimes, either Narcissa or Andromeda must coax the stubborn woman home, afraid that such exertion will take her from them too. And their father? Well, their father rarely visits his son. The man spends more of his time deep in the shelves of their family library than at their brother's bedside, a fact which Narcissa steadfastly ignores.

The third daughter's ignorance of her father's indiscretions is a successful venture until one oddly warm evening in mid-September.

That night, Narcissa finds herself slumped over in a familiar chair beside Draco's bed, groggily awakening from a nap she doesn't remember entering …

…only to see a blurry eyed brother weakly mouthing 'mother' before a corpse.

(Narcissa promptly adds the macabre sight of her mother's dead body sprawled over her little brother to the chained up box in her head.)

**-x-{X}-x-**

On the day of mother's funeral, the clouds start weeping at dawn.

' _Fitting,'_ Narcissa muses bitterly. ' _Even the sky grieves.'_

Rain roughly sloshes against the stained glass window of the second floor balcony. The water pelts against the red and purple historical caricature behind Narcissa, the glass characters appear to bleed as rivulets run down the scene. In front of the splotchy story, Narcissa stands upright on the indoor balcony that overlooks a large expanse of the eastern first floor.

"Where's Draco?" Andy whispers, having just escaped the exuberant sympathies of one of their further removed Rosier cousins, the older one that had married into the Goyles. ' _Rizella,'_ Narcissa remembers. The blond girl eyes the crowds from her perch, judging them. Having finished their condolences, they seem to have relegated to quietly chatting amongst themselves until enough time passes that it becomes seemly for them to take their leave. "I haven't seen him since the burial this afternoon." Andy continues to voice her concern, her hazel eyes sharply scanning the masses below them.

With a tumbling dread, Narcissa registers another conspicuous absence.

"Andy…" Her chest thuds. "Where's Bella?"

-x-

The girls split up, quietly (but urgently) making their way through all the places that Bella might be torturing their recently walking little brother. Neither is unaware of who Bella undoubtedly blames for their mother's death. Narcissa is in the middle of mentally practicing potential excuses that may cajole Bella from her homicidal rage (from the potential for Hogwarts expulsion to acquiring their father's infinite ire), when Narcissa instead spots the small form of Draco standing by the old oak tree at the very edge of the property, conversing with an older man.

The man seems to be using some spell to shelter the two of them from the weeping sky. Narcissa squints, then immediately tenses when she recognizes the tall man as their Head of House. Narcissa readies herself to wander over, to find a way to subtly extricate her little brother from the interrogation by Lord Arcturus Black, when his younger cousin, their Aunt Cassiopeia (' _Thank Merlin'_ ) beats her to it. Narcissa takes the distraction provided by her aunt to extract her little brother via elf.

When the elf pops Draco to her side, Narcissa guides him away quickly, sticking to the periphery of the crowds. "Why did he approach you?" She asks firmly.

' _Did he ask you about father and the library? Did he ask you about Bella and her vindictiveness? Is he asking you about your magic?'_ Her mind races. ' _Which of our family's secrets did he learn from you?'_

Draco stares back at her, but doesn't seem to actually be looking at her. He seems utterly unaffected and entirely unconcerned. "He wanted to know what I remembered about what happened to me."

Narcissa blinks away the image of a wailing Draco with blood dribbling from his eyes. Then she blinks away the flash of her mother's vacant gaze. She roughly blinks away the haunted and knowing gaze of her father when he looked upon their mother's dead body. "And?" Narcissa prompts, stuffing the images back into the box. ' _What do you know? What did you tell?'_

Her father and sister were not faultless but they were _family._

(Aunt Cassiopeia's lesson on duty rings in Narcissa's ear: duty to children, duty to husband, duty to father, duty to mother, duty to siblings, duty to her cousins. A hierarchy of her considerations, a forever type of lesson. The type of lesson that keeps her quiet regarding her suspicions of the dark magic her father learned in their old tomes, despite her heart aching to avenge her mother.)

Draco remains quiet. They reach a point where they must embrace the crowd to reach the stairs. And so, they weave between pandering well-wishers, Narcissa exchanging efficient niceties.

("Unfortunately, Lady Crabbe, my sweet brother really must retire after such an emotionally trying day. An astute mother as yourself understands, of course?")

Too many repetitive conversations later, they finally approach the third floor of the manor's west wing.

Narcissa watches her brother slowly open his bedroom door, his eyes focused beyond the wooden frame, when he finally offers his answer to her query.

"I lied."

Narcissa frowns, suspicious. She worries about the motives of their traditional Head of House approaching her brother. She worries about the motives of everyone but Andy, truly. "Did you speak of anything else with him? What else did he ask you about?"

"This and that. Goodnight muh-" he stutters, face vulnerable for half a second, before his expression flattens and he drawls the word. " _May_ you sleep well, _sister_."

He nearly bites out the final word.

Then he slams the door in Narcissa's face.

**-x-{X}-x-**

Other than their mother's funeral, Cygnus doesn't let anyone (bar Aunt Cassiopeia, and occasionally his sister) enter the manor. Moreover, he refuses to allow Narcissa or her two remaining siblings to leave the manor grounds for months. He, in turn, refuses to leave his study.

' _Should you return to the manor, I worry you may not be permitted to leave.'_

The inked message, part of a letter addressed to Bellatrix Black, leaves the manor's mini owlery in the curled talons of Silverbeak, Narcissa's trusted Great Grey.

A day later, Narcissa breathes out a quiet sigh of relief when, after being made aware of the new wards preventing the current residents from leaving the grounds, Bellatrix opts to spend the Christmas of her second year at Hogwarts. While the letter describing the other children's internment was ostensibly driven by concern over Bellatrix not being allowed to return school if she ventured home for the holidays, the letter was also mostly motivated by the memory of the thick vitriolic glares Bellatrix directed towards Draco when she visited for their mother's funeral one month prior.

Narcissa shakes away the memory, coming back to the present to join her sister as both remaining Black girls stroll through the gardens.

"I don't think father will go after Draco," Andy whispers, gently stroking the purple flesh of the nearest begonia before continuing on.

' _But, Bellatrix will.'_

Narcissa nods, not voicing the dangerous thought they are likely both having. She pauses by a bushel of daffodils, struck by a profound dissonance.

' _New beginnings and rebirth,'_ Aunt Cassiopeia's voice echoes. Narcissa gently pulls a yellow-centered white flower from its siblings, and brings it closer for inspection. She wonders at how a plant that stains itself from the inside outside can mean anything good.

' _I never got to ask mother why she named me after this, instead of a star.'_

"So self-absorbed, Cissy," Andy teases, as she rather adroitly plucks the blossom from Narcissa's fingers and deftly weaves it into her own brown locks. "We both know yellow looks better on me."

**-x-{X}-x-**

Draco does not talk, not unless prompted, after the funeral. At times, Andy might wheedle some words from him, but he always carries about with grave solemnity, and skulks about the manor beneath its shadows. Narcissa can't remember the last time she saw her brother's eyes.

"What are you looking for, Draco?" Andy teases. Narcissa and her older sister have just finished their house management lessons with Aunt Cassiopeia, and have opted for another stroll of the gardens. It's a daily thing that actually happens more than once a day, their strolls. Narcissa loves the flowers and quiet, but knows Andy only tags along so frequently in order to feel close to freedom. ' _Considering father still refuses to let us leave the grounds, the ends of the garden path are the furthest away from his reach we can go.'_

"Draco!" Andy sing-songs, letting her arm out of Narcissa's to closer approach their little brother.

Narcissa notes that Draco stands at the verge of where the set of striped carnations become the newer rose collection. He's standing by a set of delicate but full pale pink blossoms _. 'The ones named after Helen of Troy's daughter.'_ Narcissa scavenges for the name of the breed in her mind, and is more than a bit upset she can't recall it. Narcissa isn't much of a fan of the big roses (too loud), but Aunt Cassiopeia would be disappointed in her floriography flounder, the area being one of the knowledge domains expected of a lady of a great house.

"I asked what you were looking for, all the way out here." Andy asks again.

"My head," Draco finally mumbles.

Andy chuckles lightly. "Oh? And how did you manage to lose that?"

Draco doesn't laugh. "It's not screwed on right."

' _What an odd turn of phrase,'_ thinks Narcissa.

It's not the first oddity the Black sisters note of their little brother. But, really, his oddities are easily forgiven.

' _Better odd than a squib.'_

**-x-{X}-x-**

Bellatrix returns home for the summer.

This same afternoon, Aunt Cassiopeia holds Andy behind from her siblings while they leave for a break, to review the brunette's numerous errors from their Aunt's astronomy review.

Seizing the opportunity, Bellatrix yanks Draco by the collar the moment they escape their aunt's purview and drags him outside before an elaborate tombstone. Narcissa follows behind, not too keen on standing before her mother's grave, but obligated to ensure they've no reason to dig another.

"It should have been _you_ ," Bellatrix shoves Draco face first into the dirt. Then, she stomps her heeled leather boot onto his back, pressing him further into the soil of their cemetery that was still damp from last night's storm. "It's all your fault. You're the reason she's dead."

Narcissa should intervene, but doesn't (because maybe, quietly and guiltily, a small part of her agrees.) ' _I won't let Bella go too far,'_ she reassures herself. ' _I won't.'_

Narcissa jolts when Bella harshly kicks Draco in the side, and watches with growing nausea and remorse as their brother still refuses to make a sound of dissent. Bella yanks him up by the hair, then hisses viciously. "You should never have been born. You ruin all our happiness."

Draco finally turns his head to face Bella, cheeks covered in muck, with darkly furious slate eyes. "You don't _deserve_ happiness."

Bella roars, and makes to pull her wand from her satchel. Narcissa intervenes swiftly after that.

**-x-{X}-x-**

Narcissa's fairly certain the only reason their father concedes to release his hold on Andromeda is because of Aunt Cassiopeia's crafty intervention. Truly, Andy has the unrelenting older woman to thank for extorting their father's permission for the brunette to attend Hogwarts. Moreover, Andy should thank Aunt Cassiopeia for the older woman's firm advocacy that _proper_ witches shopped in Diagon Alley for supplies, most especially their wands. ("Every Black has had their wand crafted by the Ollivanders for over three centuries. _Three. Centuries_. I'll not allow your grief to make a mockery of tradition, Cygnus.")

Bellatrix had left them easily after running into some of her housemates two shops ago, much to Aunt Cassiopeia's well-hidden umbrage. The remainder of their group has been exploring _The Magical Menagerie_ for less than ten minutes. Andy has just fallen in love with a beautiful short-haired blond cat. Beside her, Narcissa sees Draco stop his passive wandering abruptly. He bends swiftly, then picks up a the most ugly feline Narcissa has ever seen from the next crate.

The ginger monstrosity claws furiously at its new handler.

"I don't think the stubborn mess likes you very much," Andy playfully smirks at their brother, while she strokes her own docile pet that mewls contently.

"I don't care," Draco intones, almost in a daze. "She's mine."

"It is a boy," Narcissa corrects him astutely, because Blacks should never be _wrong_ in public.

Draco's face scrunches, as if confused on the topic, before nodding absently. "Yes, the cat, of course. The cat is a boy."

' _Who else did you think we were talking about?'_

It's not the first time her younger brother gives her chills.

**-x-{X}-x-**

With Andy and Bella off at Hogwarts, Narcissa is alone.

If it were not for Aunt Cassiopeia's lessons, Narcissa thinks she'd forget the sound of her own voice. Since her mother's death last year, her father hasn't allowed her to go to any socials with her peers. Despite Aunt Cassiopeia's fervent intervention, all Narcissa has to look forward to for socializing is her upcoming Hogwarts admission next year. ("We'll spin your father's foolishness in your favour, my darling." Aunt Cassiopeia had told her. "You'll be the mysterious beauty that will captivate them all; I'll ensure it. Truly, my nephew is doing you no favours. Why, where would you be if that sickness took me when I was a child? You'd be utterly alone.")

' _Most literally_ ,' she supposes, ' _I'm not alone.'_ Her father and brother are still in the manor with her, but her father spends most of his time holed up in his study or haunting the isles of their library, while Draco's attention is consumed by his infernal cat.

The boy disappears for hours on end, always with the orange menace underfoot, and comes back ruffled and refusing to honestly answer for his whereabouts.

"The stables," he'll say, even though the mangy cat hates their abraxans.

"The creek," he'll say, even though the trims of his boots are lined with grass marks instead of mud stains.

"The hedge maze," he'll say, even though Narcissa knows he has refused to step foot in the grassy labyrinth since the summer before their mother died, when Bellatrix used some cruel hex she had learned from Rodolphus Lestrange to trap Draco in there for an entire night before anyone realized he was missing.

"The gardens," he'll say, even though she knows he avoids the blooms ever since that time his sisters caught him 'looking for his head.'

Aunt Cassiopeia never prods him any further whenever she finds her wayward student, just orders elves to clean him up and bring him inside to teach them both histories and politics.

Narcissa asks about it, once. "He's being disrespectful. Why not reprimand him for his lying and his obvious avoidance of lessons?"

Her aunt tutted, and Narcissa felt her cheeks flare in embarrassment. "One day, he will be the head of this branch of the House of Black. He will answer to no one but the Head of House, and it's best we instill that in him early on." Her aunt offers a droll look that implies Narcissa should have known the answer to her query without needing to ask.

Narcissa despises falling short of Aunt Cassiopeia's expectations. ' _Some head of the branch,'_ she thinks bitterly, cheeks flushed. ' _His only show of magic thus far has been not dying.'_

**-x-{X}-x-**

It's May, so Andy and Bella are still at Hogwarts, in the last leg of their first and third years, respectively. About two hours prior, Aunt Cassiopeia had left the manor to return to her home for the evening (one of the dowager properties near the England-Scotland border). And so, Narcissa is the sole female to witness Draco's explosion...

Prior to leaving for the evening, Aunt Cassiopeia had gifted Narcissa a new, young elf. ("It's to be part of your dowry, one day, Narcissa," she had said.) Distracted by her lessons, Narcissa had instructed the elf to make itself useful by attending to her father, much to her Aunt's approval. In their lessons that day, Aunt Cassiopeia had also praised her fluency in French.

Endeavoring to continue exceeding Aunt Cassiopeia's expectations, Narcissa had only just finished her assigned French readings but wanted to do something more to show her Aunt on the morrow. So she rises from the chaise, then leaves her room to find a tome on introductory Italian from their vast library.

On the way, she is shocked to hear shouts. To her further surprise, the shouting is recognizable. ' _Is that… is that Draco?'_ It's clearly her little brother – the one who barely speaks beyond mumbling.

"Dobby!? Stop it! What are you doing?!" She hears him scream.

Narcissa quickly turns towards the yelling, flinching at the mental flashes of red tears. In moments she finds herself standing before her father's study, the door wide open. Inside the room, a furious Cygnus Black looms over a battered house elf with his wand.

In between the raised wand and cowering servant, stands a glaring Draco.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing, boy?" Her father sneers. "The useless beast spilled my wine! I was disciplining it appropriately, before you interrupted. Now move."

"Leave him alone!" Draco scowls. "You don't get to hurt him, he's mine!"

"What rubbish," their father snorts. "If you want to play at owners, this beast is your sister's. A rather expensive gift purchased with funds from _my_ accounts."

Draco stands taller, arms outstretched to protect the feeble – already bloodied – creature. "I said Dobby is _my elf_." His fists come down to clench at his sides. "Leave. Him. To. Me."

"What insolence!" Their father rages. "And from the squib that killed my wife. I should carry out what her memory has refused me to do, and be rid of you once and for all. But first, I'll give you the wretched creature's head as a lesso-"

The study's windows shatter, the books lift from the shelves and whip around in a swirl. Next, the desk dances in the air, followed by the rest of the furniture in their father's study. Draco stays unmoving in the center of the hurricane, him and the elf untouched by the projectiles speeding around the room.

Cygnus Black, mostly in stupor over such a powerful display from his magically handicapped son, concedes.

"Take the elf."

The hurricane ends, Draco calmly calls for Kippy, and then with a pop the three are gone.

Their father turns to Narcissa, who remains perched by the door. "I'll get you another," he says, almost dazedly.

Narcissa nods, honestly a bit surprised at the acknowledgement. She voices a polite thank you for his consideration before gracefully stepping away. She herself is in too much of a state of shock at her brother's show of magic… the formidable spectacle that should have been accidental but seemed too controlled to be anything other than intentional.

' _Is this what you've been doing in secret, little brother?'_ Narcissa's mind races as she maneuvers back to her room, Italian tome forgotten. ' _Why conceal your skills? What could you gain by it?'_ Her stomach drops. ' _What plans are you hiding from us?'_

**-x-{X}-x-**

Their Head of House arrives a day after the hurricane, all but dragging Narcissa and Draco from the manor after chastising their father.

"You complete and utter fool. The boy is an heir of a branch of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, and you what? _Imprison_ him? _Isolate_ him from his peers?"

"Girl," he turns from their chastised father to address Narcissa.

She nods. "Yes, my Lord?"

"My cousin Cassiopeia will complete your governess lessons at my estate this summer. Had I realized my nephew to be entrenched in such madness after his wife's death, I would have removed you from his care earlier. Ridiculous." He sneers at their father. "Get yourself sorted, Cygnus. The woman is dead. Finish your grieving, and do so with haste. I'll not play at caretaker for longer than the year. Are we clear?"

**-x-{X}-x-**

Narcissa knows _of_ Lord Arcturus Black through the teas (that _used_ to happen) between her ogre Aunt Walburga and her late mother. She discerns - ' _discerned,'_ she corrects herself yet again. ' _Mother is past tense now.'_ She _discerned_ the gist of their Head of House rather easily from those teas. Lord Arcturus Black is quiet, reclusive, and untouchable.

" _He's the sort to think himself above dealing with the domestic disputes of his family,"_ her mother had said once, when Andy had asked their mother to consult their Head of House to put a leash on Aunt Walburga's pestering. " _To be frank, he's always thought himself above others. It's part of why he never married, and why his younger brother's grandchild is now the heir presumptive *****."_

Narcissa knows the story well enough. She also knows that there is a pointed reason why Druella Black (née Rosier) called Sirius the heir _presumptive_. If Draco had been stronger earlier (not so slow to show his competence) and not nearly killed their mother (and thus their mother's ambitions) upon entering the world, perhaps Druella would have trained Draco to one day challenge Sirius for the title of heir presumptive.

' _Sirius was not a direct heir, and Draco would have been within his rights to challenge him for the title. It would have been the ultimate way to get back at Aunt Walburga.'_

Narcissa's own childhood manor was considered an architectural marvel. And yet, it is but a shed in comparison to the grandeur and sheer size of the sprawling Ancestral Manor belonging to the Head of the House of Black. It's so large that Narcissa never even sees Draco, Lord Arcturus having taken over his lessons from Aunt Cassiopeia.

Except once.

Narcissa lays eyes on him only once in the _entire_ year. Well, perhaps not eyes, moreso _ears_. One time she overhears him and their Head of House while she paints on a balcony above them.

"I've heard that Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in the world." She overhears Draco from below. For a moment, she wonders if he's trying to talk with her, but before she can respond another voice answers.

"Perhaps not in the world, but most certainly in Britain."

' _Lord Arcturus.'_ Narcissa freezes in place, unwilling to let a moving shadow from her position above them cause them to move their conversation indoors. ' _They must be conversing in the balcony right below mine, for me to hear them so well.'_

"He's a half-blood," Draco drawls.

"Dumbledore is an exception." Lord Arcturus replies swiftly. "His sire line is old and strong, and that won out despite the muggle taint of his mother."

"What of Morgan Le Fay?" Draco asks. "Was she another exception?"

' _There were rumours she was a half-blood through her father,'_ Narcissa recalls, ' _though she fervently claimed that Pendragon was not her true sire.'_

"She was a woman who failed to produce heirs," Arcturus huffs out. "And so, she doesn't matter."

Narcissa grits her teeth.

"If she had produced heirs," Draco continues, "she would have passed on her power to them. Would her heritage have mattered much if she did her duty, married, and gave her husband's line powerful heirs?"

This time, Lord Arcturus doesn't answer right away, seems to hesitate.

Draco continues. "If you had children, would you rather that they be pure or powerful?"

"Purity and power are synonymous." Lord Arcturus seems to regain himself. "Myrddin Emrys. Salazar Slytherin. Gellert Grindelwald. Abe no Seimei. Nicolas Flamel. All pureblood heirs to impeccable lines, all with immense power, and all who left an indelible impression on history."

"Of course," Draco says, and Narcissa hears a slight patronization in it. Either Lord Arcturus misses it or chooses to ignore it. She isn't sure which concerns her more.

' _Do you hold such favour with the Head of House already, little brother?_ _Are you continuing mother's work?'_

Lord Arcturus's strong voice seems to fade, indicating his retreat off the lower balcony and back into the manor. Narcissa just barely catches his parting words. "Keep these conversations between us, Draco."

To Narcissa's confusion, the words sound more like a warning than a threat.

(There is no child being threatened and tossed through the air, not this time.)

**-x-{X}-x-**

Narcissa returns to their father's care just before she leaves for her first year at Hogwarts. Draco does as well, in name. However, more days than not before her departure, the Head of House calls for him to return to the Ancestral House for lessons.

**-x-{X}-x-**

For all that Aunt Walburga is an irredeemable toad, the woman is a bonafide expert at getting her way. Especially now that Narcissa's father would sooner agree to her requests than entertain her presence. This is why, much to Narcissa's annoyance, she is stuck spending one day of her summer before second year accompanying her younger cousin Sirius for his first year supply shopping. She would think it a nauseating attempt at match-making, if not for the fact that the ogre had insisted on their respective siblings attending as well.

As a loud testament to Walburga's mothering skills, she abandons the six of them to attend some luncheon where her presence is ' _most desperately'_ required.

Bellatrix abandons them as soon as they enter the Alley, running off to spend the afternoon with the Lestrange brothers.

"You're _sixteen_ Bella. You shouldn't go unaccompanied. It's uncouth." And it was. Aunt Cassiopeia had never been able to manage Bellatrix's willfulness, and would be furious to hear that she had been in the company of potential suitors without a male relative as a chaperone.

Bellatrix doesn't bother responding, just rolls her eyes and makes her way to her classmates.

Narcissa seethes. Rodolphus Lestrange is of age now, and spends more nights in the common room than not undressing her oldest sister with his eyes. And Bellatrix not only entertains his flirtations, but _responds_. It's obscene, and Bellatrix seems utterly unaffected by the rumours going around Slytherin House that Rodolphus has already taken her to bed.

"Relax, Cissy." Andy pats her shoulder. "Mother was never able to tame her wildness, father cares not to, and Aunt Cassiopeia remains unable to. You're wasting energy fighting a losing battle."

' _Mother never tried, indulged her too frequently, like when she let Bella forgo tea times with Aunt Walburga.'_ Narcissa's face fights to stay placid. ' _And now Bellatrix ruins the marriage prospects for the both of us by running around being branded as used goods.'_

"Matters not to me," Narcissa lies. "I'll be reporting this incident to Aunt Cassiopeia. Bellatrix's behaviour is out of hand, and next year she'll be of age. There will be no childhood whims to use to excuse her behaviour." Narcissa wonders if getting Aunt Cassiopeia to counsel father to betroth Bella to Rodolphus will fix her own prospects. She shudders at the thought of her hand being given to the likes of Borlus Bulstrode or Thorfinn Rowle, all because of Bellatrix's inhibitions. Great Aunt Cassiopeia _always_ takes care of them. She instilled the responsibilities of being a lady into Andromeda and Narcissa, and to some small extent even Bellatrix, who occasionally listened petulantly and more often defied the older woman for sport.

Andy sighs. "Come on Cissy, the boys are at _Twinkle's_ and I really need a new telescope."

"You chose to continue Astronomy?" Narcissa raises a brow. "Was it not your lowest mark?"

Andy flushes, which Narcissa understands. ' _A Black doing poor in astronomy? Blasphemous.'_

"I found a tutor. Worry not about my academic prospects, sister." She opens the shop door. "Now let's find our little men." They spot the trio rather easily, huddled in between the moon maps and star charts. She sees Draco pointing rather enthusiastically to one of the pages, explaining something to their cousins.

"It's good to see that Regulus and Draco get on so well," Andy smiles. "Though is it bad I'm maybe a bit jealous that he's taken so well to Sirius?"

' _Of course I understand. Draco offers monosyllabic responses to us (when he even bothers to address us), and somehow he speaks freely to Sirius. Sirius doesn't even have to try, yet Draco treats Sirius like the older sibling he refuses to make of us.'_ Instead of voicing her insecurities, Narcissa raises a brow. "You adore Sirius."

"Well of course I do! That doesn't mean I don't wish to be adored _more_ than him!" Andy giggles. "Do keep up Cissy!"

They finish up at _Twinkle's Telescopes;_ Andy comes out with a shining new obsidian telescope, and Sirius with his first one (in a rather obnoxious gold). The five are about to turn and head to _Praedico Predico_ next door (because Andy is entertaining some whim of Sirius's to get an amulet for some prank on his newest tutor), when Narcissa notices Draco has frozen facing the other way, his eyes steadfastly focused down the street. Andy and Regulus distracted by some tale Sirius is spinning, and so don't notice when Draco starts taking steps in the opposite direction of where the rest of their group travels.

Narcissa notices (she always notices).

She yanks Draco back, her grip hidden by the folds of his robes. "Where are you going, Draco?"

Much to her annoyance, he stares at the ground instead of meeting her gaze.

' _Will you_ ever _meet my eyes? Do you truly despise me that much?'_

"I need to go to _Flourish and Blotts_."

"We were there just before Twinkles."

"Well I just remembered I needed something that I didn't get, and I need to go now." He tugs his arm, attempting to free himself from Narcissa's hold.

Narcissa senses he is about to make a scene, so begrudgingly releases him. "Well, I will go with you, then. Just let me tell Andy and-"

"No!" he yells, catching the attention of a couple of nearby shoppers, much to Narcissa's embarrassment.

" _Draco_." She hisses out quietly, guiding them to the side of the store and far from prying eyes. " _Never_ embarrass me like that again. Do you understand? You are a _Black_. Act like one."

He flinches at her sharp reprimand, and when he finally meets her gaze, his eyes seem almost confused. "I want to go alone." He finally says. "And I need to go now."

"Call on your elf at least," Narcissa concedes, unwilling to put on more of a show for the nearby patrons. "And the only reason I'm permitting this is because it is only three stores down from _Praedico Predico_. You are _not_ to leave the bookshop until I come and retrieve you after. Are we clear?"

He eyes the ground once more. "You're not my mother." And even though he says it quietly rather than belligerently, the words still hit Narcissa like a slap across the face. The box in the back of her mind rattles, and she sees her father with an old grimoire and her mother's corpse.

"No," Narcissa bites outs harshly, "I'm not mother."

 _'I lost her and got you instead, remember?'_ She turns around. ' _She's dead, and you're not. And all because you were a boy.'_

She struts away from him, feeling nauseated by her suspicions, guilt over her cruel thoughts, and not trusting herself to not spill her knowledge to Draco.

' _No,'_ Narcissa reminds herself firmly, as she sees Andy happily waving her closer from _Praedico Predico_ 's entrance. ' _No one can ever know. Not Andy, not Arcturus, and certainly never Bella.'_ She glances behind her, and sees the back of her little brother being swallowed by the crows. _'_ Your _recovery is a secret that will die with me.'_

(She has no children nor husband yet. Her duty is to her father first.)

**-x-{X}-x-**

" _Restraint is imperative, my darling," Aunt Cassiopeia had once counselled an entranced six-year-old Narcissa Black. "More often than not you will need to hold your tongue, hold your opinions, hold your reactions, and hold your dislike. A lady can never outwardly hate. You are of the most ancient and noble house in this country. You must put yourself to a standard higher than the rest, because you were born better than the rest. Black's are wizarding royalty. Everyone else is secondary. However, when the time comes, you will marry well; I will ensure this for you. Then you will give your husband heirs, and raise them befitting his wishes. That is how you honour your house, your family, your legacy." She leaned in. "And remember this, my dear Narcissa. Be quiet, and you will overhear more than enough to keep yourself informed. Information will be how you see to your family's continued good standing. You listen, you observe, and you collect information so that your plans are exemplary in execution, and every desire of yours is met. Never underestimate the power that comes with being mistaken for a wallflower. Keep your secrets close, my darling, so that you can show them when they'll hurt your enemies the most."_

**-x-{X}-x-**

Narcissa comes back to the manor for Yule, unlike Andy who choses to stay at Hogwarts to work on some astronomy extra-credit project, and Bellatrix who is off goodness knows where with Rodolphus Lestrange.

' _At least Aunt Cassiopeia saw them betrothed,'_ thinks Narcissa. ' _Despite their heir's lechery, Lestrange is a good name.'_ Narcissa thinks on the current contenders in her House for her future husband, and decides that the only heirs from sufficiently reputable houses (with acceptable appearance and manner) are Malfoy, Nott, and perhaps, Rabastan Lestrange. She'll need to report her observations of them to her Aunt so they can discuss her optimal match.

Her Aunt is, in truth, the only reason Narcissa deigned to return to her family's Manor for the holidays. Her father still rots in the library, and Draco is likely off somewhere wandering with his ugly cat and pet elf. ' _Never mind that the elf was technically part of my dowry, but no matter. Aunt Cassiopeia will ensure father actually acquires me another.'_

She walks up to their manor's personal owlery to send a missive informing her aunt of her arrival. Once at the top, she is surprised to see her little brother send off his own letter.

"Who did you just send that to?"

Draco doesn't even flinch, turns around and eyes the stone wall of the entrance beside Narcissa's shoulder.

"Regulus, of course."

"Of course," Narcissa responds. ' _Liar.'_ She moves towards the owls. ' _You lie with the same cadence Andy does.'_

**-x-{X}-x-**

' _No children. No husband. Father at home. Mother dead. Sisters with their respective friends.'_

Narcissa, dutiful daughter of House Black that she is, runs through her list of obligations. She rises to seek out Draco after having said her hellos and exchanging sufficient pleasantries with the girls of her year. She tries to remember which compartment Regulus in sat last year for his first train ride to Hogwarts, expecting to find Draco saddled up with his older cousin.

She finds her cousin easily, but rather than her brother, Regulus is instead joined by other housemates. She notes some fifth years: Atticus Avery, younger than her but still an heir of good repute and recently added to her list of potential betrotheds (Sacred 28, skilled at potions); Severus Snape, a half-blood but heir to House Prince through his mother (skilled at potions and the male with the highest scores amongst the new third years); and Baylon Burke, nephew of one of the co-owners of Borkin and Burke's (skilled in DADA, Narcissa recalls, and one of their House team's beaters). Narcissa also notes the presence of some of Regulus's fellow second years: Otto Avery (younger brother to Atticus, not very academically inclined to her knowledge but rumoured to be a guaranteed chaser, one of the best they've ever had once he is permitted to try out next year), and Barty Crouch Junior (Ravenclaw, but still Sacred 28 and son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement). It's mostly appropriate company, Narcissa judges, except for the half-blood.

"Is Draco no longer with you?" She inquires politely.

"He left about an hour ago." Regulus frowns. "He said he was leaving to find you and Andy. Is something wrong?"

"Oh no," Narcissa lies, ignoring the sinking in her gut, trying to tell herself that there is no way Bellatrix would have hurt him on the train. She was in seventh year now, and would never jeopardize her upcoming graduation. "He's likely just with Andy." She gracefully exits, forcing her gait to remain casual.

' _There's no need to worry,'_ she reassures herself. ' _Even if Bellatrix sought to hurt him, none of her favourite company would let her. For all that the younger Lestrange, Malfoy, and the rest of her year and the sixth year Slytherins pander to her; none of them would risk harming an heir of the House of Black. Draco will still lead a branch of the house one day, and they are too well-trained by their fathers to sacrifice future political clout just to indulge Bellatrix's vengeful whims.'_

Then again, Rodolphus may have joined (even encouraged) Bella's violence, but he had graduated last year. ' _Thank Merlin.'_

Narcissa continues her walk at a sedate pace, ignoring her pounding heart. Finally, _finally,_ she spots Draco alone in the very last compartment. She opens the door, luckily finding no Bellatrix in sight. But, for some reason, instead finding a little brother who looks utterly dejected.

' _No, that's not the right word,'_ Narcissa notes his swollen red-webbed eyes and wet cheeks _. 'He looks heart-broken.'_

She swiftly enters the compartment and shuts the door, unwilling to let anyone else see him so distraught. She sits down on the bench across from him, observing him with narrowed eyes.

"I looked everywhere," he sniffles, seemingly whispering to himself. "I looked at every face. I had thought… the others… but none of them…" He wipes his eyes. "It's so much, _too_ much. And it's already so different, how do I even know what to handle first?" There's some incoherent mumbling. "…disappointed… why me… no sense… but next year… my knee will know… but what… until then… and all the ghosts…"

He shivers, and Narcissa ignores the memory of young Rodolphus Lestrange teasing Sirius about their family's history of madness. ' _No,'_ Narcissa straightens her already perfect posture. ' _I'd sooner die than let you soil our mother's memory by indulging in insanity. I refuse to let you make a mockery of her sacrifice.'_

Narcissa may be his sister, but she is also a _Black_.

"I don't know what's caused this. You're speaking nonsense, and I doubt you'll clarify anything to me." It's a harsh truth, but she learned to accept it long ago. Perhaps he might disclose his worries to Sirius or Regulus, but never her. And she can't risk their cousins seeing her brother in such disarray, lest her horrid aunt be informed (Sirius could keep a secret from his mother happily, but Regulus would cave the moment his mother made even a tangential inquiry). "Do remember who you are, what you represent. You are an _heir_ of a Noble and Ancient House. I've silenced the cabin for now," her stern look very clearly conveys he should have done so earlier. She doesn't doubt Lord Arcturus taught him the spell. "You may use this space to sort yourself out for now…" Narcissa stands, brushing her hands over her robes to straighten nonexistent creases. "But when we arrive, you will get a hold of your emotions. You will clean yourself up, you will stand tall, and you will comport yourself as a _Black_."

**-x-{X}-x-**

The hat sorts Draco into Slytherin in what is rumoured to be history's quickest sorting.

"Why, he was sorted before the hat even touched his head! It barely had a chance to hover above him before calling out. I've never heard of such a thing," Elladoria Parkinson titters beside her. "He's truly a credit to your House, Narcissa."

"He merely did as expected," Narcissa offers coolly, despite internally heaving a gigantic sigh of relief. She calms the part of her that had been viciously replaying memories of overheard conversations between him and Lord Arcturus, remembering the shock of Sirius being sorted into Gryffindor two years prior , and worrying over Draco's close relationship with the only Black to have ever been sorted outside of Slytherin. "There was simply no other House that deserved him."

She sees Draco confidently approach the first year end of the table, and begin chatting with a fellow first year (the Greengrass heir, she notes with approval). He shows absolutely no hint of his earlier breakdown. But something in her mind rattles... Narcissa is again reminded of Sirius's sorting into Gryffindor, and Draco's close relationship with Lord Arcturus. Her mind ponders…

' _Perhaps mother's ambitions live.'_

**-x-{X}-x-**

Narcissa carefully observes who her brother befriends, and approves of his choice in Kingsley Shacklebolt (a Sacred 28 heir, whose father is a prominent member of the Wizengamot and whose mother is Head Healer at St Mungo's), Theron Greengrass (another Sacred 28 heir), Vivienne Bordovia (Ravenclaw, but sister of the heir to a notable pureblood French family, maternally related to the Macmillan's and thus eligible to attend Hogwarts, but an unlikely match for Draco given Theron Greengrass's blatant early courting of her), and Aurora Sinistra (Ravenclaw and unfortunately half-blood, but at least related to the Slughorns through her maternal grandmother). All in all, not terrible choices in company, in Narcissa's opinion.

Aunt Cassiopeia agrees.

**-x-{X}-x-**

Expectedly, next September there is another welcoming feast.

Surprisingly, there is another sorting that makes history.

Unexpectedly, it is a _mudblood_.

Horrifically, Draco seems... _attached_ to her.

' _Past tense.'_

She sees the way he interacts with the girl at the opening feast. Narcissa notes with shrewd eyes how he _shoves_ Theron Greengrass – a Sacred 28 _heir_ – over on the bench to make room for the _mudblood_. Furious, she catches him the following afternoon on his way to lunch from Potions. She pulls him into one of the spare study rooms lining the dungeons.

"When did you meet her?"

"She's a first year, sister. She only arrived at Hogwarts yesterday."

"Don't play Andy's word games with me. You will tell me where you first met her." Narcissa's face remains placid, though her grip on his arm tightens. ' _I saw how you interacted. You know her, you know her well, and I demand to know how you befriended a mudblood while locked away in our father's manor.'_

"I met Hermione Evans in Diagon Alley, the year we all went to shop for Sirius's first year items."

Narcissa nearly sneers. ' _You're lying, only telling a half-truth.'_ Instead she responds tensely. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that she is the wrong sort to be cavorting with."

Draco, of all things, _grins_. It's a crooked thing, clearly unpracticed on her brother's face.

"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

He then proceeds to utterly ignore her advice, and continues to pander to the mudblood girl that masquerades around in Slytherin green.

' _And what an utterly apt description,'_ Narcissa thinks more than once, ' _even her eyes are the colour of mud._ ' Draco clings to Hermione Evans like a fool, much to Narcissa's increasing ire. ' _You're lucky Bella graduated last year. That may buy you some time for now, but what do you think Bella will do to your little pet once she finds out about her? What do you think Bella will do to you? You stomp on mother's ambitions every second you spend in that filth's company.'_

Months pass. Disgust morphs to unease.

In truth, the only person who manages to unsettle Narcissa more than her brother, is Hermione Evans, the mudblood that Draco obsesses over.

Unease reverts back to disgust, when Elladoria excitedly whispers to her one day over lunch, the events of her younger sister's DADA class.

"Narcissa, you'll never believe what Anella just told me. Did you hear about our mudblood and her boggart?"

Narcissa puts down her tea and raises a brow, prompting her friend to continue.

"It was a _baby_." Elladoria whispers. "Her boggart was a baby with a bloody head."

* * *

_**Narcissa's little brother is slow** _

_**Slow to show his magic. Slow to wake from his sickness. Slow to speak his plots.** _

_**He's slow** _…

_**slow like a poison.** _

_**(the insidious kind,** _

_**where you don't realize** _

_**the truth of the deception** _

_**until it's stealing the breath from your lungs)** _

* * *

_End of Chapter 2_

* * *

***For those well versed in the Black Family Tree, yes I have made a major change. Melania McMillan actually married Lycoris Black (Arcturus's younger brother). So _Lycoris_ is Orion's father and thus Sirius's biological grandfather, NOT _Arcturus_. However, both Melania and Lycoris have died. Cygnus and Walburga are Pollux's children, thus they are the children of Arcturus's cousin. Arcturus never married, so Sirius is _technically_ next in line, but not the _direct_ heir as he is not Arcturus's grandson. This is important later.**

What did you all think about this chapter? How'd you feel about Crooks, and Draco's "Harry moment" lol.

Did you enjoy Narcissa's POV? Did you catch the hints regarding future Andy/Ted?

Whose POV do you guys want to see next?

As always, please review :) They truly do motivate me to keep going. I haven't had a chance to respond to everyone yet, but I promise I'm working on it ;)


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